The Ballad of Karma Khameleon
by somandalicious
Summary: So curiosity killed the cat, but no worries, satisfaction brought it back. HG/DM post-hogwarts, au.


**The Ballad of Karma Khameleon **

_"…I've been acting like sour milk fell on the floor. It's your fault you didn't shut the refrigerator. Maybe that's the reason I've been acting so cold." Gwen Stefani Sweet Escape_

"Oh shit. What's wrong?"

Hermione Granger blinked a few times as her chest constricted. Her limbs were heavy with tension and her fingers ached with the need to curl into fists.

With lips pressed tightly over clenched teeth, she angled her head and said quite simply, "I'm angry."

The acknowledgement astounded her, for she could not fathom why his admission would upset her so. After all, he had merely answered her query. And quite honestly at that.

Yet, somehow, her face had grown feverish, rosy, and she had the sudden urge to physically assault a pillow. Oh and perhaps an enraged scream would feel delightful as well.

The worst part of it was that she didn't know what had made her angrier; the fact that she asked the stupid question, or that her boyfriend admitted to participation in such a vulgar act.

Oh galloping Godric! What if he fancied wizards as well?

She crushed her lids shut and visibly cringed at the thought.

It was at that point that her boyfriend of two years lost all control and doubled over in mirth. He had tried very hard not to smirk or smile, but witnessing her facial expressions had been too much comedic delight for his chuckle-box to hold in.

The half-full glass of milk clutched at his chest was in danger of spilling to his feet, and Hermione momentarily thought to remind him of it. However, her anger won out and she decided that it was he who perpetrated it.

Her eyes narrowed on him treacherously and she steadied her mouth. "Think this is funny, do you?"

Nodding, he said, "I do," and promptly continued his jollity.

"Well it's not!" Sighing she rubbed the spot between her eyes. "How could you?" she said weakly.

Draco snorted, "You're hilarious, Doll, ergo I laughed."

Stomping her foot, her fingers finally fulfilled their desire and balled into fists. "Not that! How could you …that is to say … are you homosexual?"

He stood straight then, his visage sobering, and his silence fell over them, whilst his grey eyes ran along the curves of her face to see how serious she was. Turned out she was very serious. And very irate.

He gave himself over to another round of chortling again.

His girlfriend huffed and watched him with fury and confusion, her bottom lip protruding with her steeled jaw. So maybe he was bi-sexual. Or selfish. Because she had read somewhere that bi-sexuality was a myth and really, those who labeled themselves as such were nothing but egocentric. True, Draco was undoubtedly selfish, but she had thought it only pertained to his jar of Nutella or his lavender dressing gown. Never had he gave her any indication that would cause her to imagine he'd be greedy about sexual partners as well.

"I'm not a ponce! It's not as if I shagged a wizard," he bit out indignantly, obviously realizing where her busy mind had headed.

"TUH! You … I mean … honestly … BALLS SLAPPIN'!" she stuttered loudly, her slim fingers knitting into the hazardous curls at her temples. The imagery was blinding and shocking. Yet somehow intriguing, but she'd rather kiss a skrewt than admit it aloud. Clutching madly at her hair, she shook her head rapidly and tried to wobble it all out of her minds eye.

Unfortunately, the ideated scene was forever stamped on her imagination.

Draco Malfoy could not believe that Hermione was so inarticulate and absurd about his admission. After all, she had asked. He sniggered and told her so.

"That is NOT the point!" She pivoted and began to walk away, unable to look upon his face without depicturing terrible and slightly erotic scenarios. She wanted potatoes. Mashed, preferably, and by her own hand; none of that instant twaddle. That would certainly work out some of her aggression.

He followed her. "Oh, please. I'm not the first wizard to partake in a three-way."

She tossed her head and snorted unattractively, opting instead for alcohol to chase away her staunching belligerence.

"It was only an experiment," he offered by way of explanation.

"Ha!" She reached for her favorite mug in the cupboard and began to pour a cheap wizarding merlot into it. "This coming from the bloke who lives by the dictum of 'Try anything twice, three times if I like it.' Right?" She took a heavy guzzle, and then poured more wine.

"Well, I didn't want too. Really," he said slowly. "We were playing strip poker in the common room and they talked me into it." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to justify himself or his actions to her, but her amusing rage was suddenly making him feel wretched and he simply didn't care to feel that way. "Peer pressure is fatal to a teenager."

She spun on him and an ornery smirk graced her mouth. "No means no, Draco. Surely you know that?"

He sneered at that. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

She nodded and pursed her lips disdainfully, her knuckles white from clutching the mug.

"It happened way before I even thought about being with you, so I don't understand why you are getting so upset over it." He took the mug and the bottle away from her.

She crunched her nose at him, her eyes carefully following his movements, and her hands fisted at her hips.

Perhaps the reason she adored him so was because he continually surprised her. Just when she became comfortable and thought she knew all there was to know about him, he would throw a curve ball and turn her world topsy-turvy.

Like the time he told her Cho Chang nearly fulfilled his fetish for the Orient by giving him a lap dance at the Hog's Head. He had been sure that if she hadn't passed out on the table, she surely would have followed him home.

Or his brief liaison with Millicent Bulstrode. Eck. Because really, the witch was an Amazon, or better yet, as a more suitable noun, a behemoth. One that was rumored to have her back waxed regularly. He claimed he had been incredibly drunk on all encounters and under some kind of "rose-glasses" spell. Yeah, sure. Okay. As if. He still only referred to it as the "Frankfurter in a Hallway Experiment". Whatever that was supposed to mean.

And according to Daphne Greengrass, that had only ended because Millicent had come up pregnant. The bouncing baby boy had actually been fathered biologically by Zacharias Smith, but called Vincent Crabbe "Daddy".

As Draco's past –-and admitted-- indiscretions flickered through Hermione's mind, one in particular stood out like a big flashing red marquis. The dalliance of infamy. The one philandering escapade that defined him as a romantic infidel. During his three year relationship with Pansy Parkinson, he was repeatedly and quite regularly unfaithful. But his discretion was so apt that many, including Pansy, thought it only a rumor from the jealous gossip-mongers. Until, that is, he disappeared for nearly a fortnight. With no sign or word of him anywhere, his mother and Pansy had even called in the authorities, sure that foul-play had resulted in his unfortunate demise. However, when he showed up again, on his own, it was later discovered that he had taken off with Neravedova Zabini to a remote island in the South Pacific for a little respite. To hear him tell it, it was to exercise his gluttonous libido and hone his sexual prowess from top-notch to mind-blowing.

It was no secret that Draco was severely deluded.

The odd thing was, that even knowing of his infidelity and womanizing, Hermione trusted him more than anyone she had ever known. It was simply factual, like knowing the sun would rise and that after a Saturday comes a Sunday. She _just_ knew it.

There was a solid veneration when he looked at her, like she was brand new or the first and freshest snow of winter with all its impenetrable promises. And although she always impulsively asked him what he was thinking, she already knew. He loved only her, wanted only her. For always.

It was comforting and frightening.

Both contributing to her current dilemma. Albeit the consolatory absolution of babies and noodle salad quelled her raging psyche, there was a daunting echo of archaic diffidence that left a tortuous perplexity which contended with all she had come to adore.

Then there was this latest divulgence to add to her demential and fluctuating romantic theorem. Inexplicably.

Her mother had always said that over-analyzing uncertainties such as "What if" and "When will" would only doom Hermione, and yet, she could never be a 'que sera, sera' kind of girl.

If only mumsie knew what kind of bloke her daughter was hectically in love with…

Hermione's eyes grimly met Draco's as he stood adjacent to her, waiting patiently while her busy mind worked out her next, and probably psychotic, move.

Oh mummy dearest, she was mad for a devilishly handsome wizard who understood her completely, from the baby fine tips of her licentious curls to the blushing pink polish of her toes. A bloke who, despite her many faults and un-checkered past, would catch her when she fell, give her light when she couldn't see, and would laugh with her at the absurdness of the world around them.

He also fancied sharing tarts with his mates.

At the same time.

It was vulgar.

Immoral.

Naughty.

Basically, everything she wasn't. Never had been and never would be, even if she tried.

"I have to go," she whispered dully, tried to smile and promptly Apparated. Because she had suddenly realized what truly had her so discombobulated and exacerbated.

As her feet found purchase on the abandoned boardwalk along the shore of De Panne, Belgium, she let the astounding revelation wash over her, like the North Sea pounding at the coastline.

She felt, simply put, not good enough.

Her lifestyle was routine and redundant. Everything was on a well planned schedule and she checked off her daily duties from her numerous lists. She liked to stay home and curl up next to Draco with a good book and a cuppa. Her favorite sexual position was missionary and she preferred that their romps take place in the bed. She was boring. And Draco, he was exciting. He liked to gamble with his money and time, he liked to drink copious amounts of alcohol, he like to pass out in random places. He was spontaneous and exuberant.

He would surely grow weary of her dullness.

But she knew he wouldn't leave her. Why? She couldn't put her finger on just one reason, there were just too many.

Yet, she would inevitably break his spirit, make him become just as mundane and wretched as she.

Hermione loved him entirely too much to allow that to happen.

As she was lost in her reverie, she had meandered down onto the sand to sit down (crisscross applesauce of course) at her favorite spot, next to one of the many statues buried in the sand. This particular one was shrouded with sand only up to his shoulders.

On a weekend holiday, the first of many, she (mostly she) and Draco had named him Beaker, after her favorite Muppet. After, of course, they had invented a hilarious story about him being an assistant to a deranged Alchemist who spent his life trying to unsuccessfully turn lead to gold. Always at the physical expense of his loyal assistant. Besides, she always imagined that the darling, nearly subterranean man would surely protest with "Mee" and "Meep" whenever a seagull would land on his head. She had tried to share this endearment with Draco, but explaining the Muggle Muppets to a wizard was nearly impossible.

Sighing, Hermione threw a lump of sand at Beaker and turned from him with a cold, shivering shoulder.

She had forgotten the chill of the season and ergo, had not thought to grab a jacket before Apparating. But she had been so … embarrassed. To say the least.

And absolutely agonal over at herself for her overreaction to Draco's latest (and thoroughly disgusting, not in the least tantalizing) announcement. Because after all, she had asked.

She should have learned by now that asking Draco such questions would turn into scandalizing discoveries. How did that one go? Oh yes, 'Curiosity killed the cat'. Which is an understatement, because it was more of an Ancient Chinese Water Torture than just a simple slaying, yeah?

Because, now, her inquisitiveness had turned her raw and she had inadvertently destroyed their relationship.

Now she would have to go home to him –Sweet Valhalla, _no more home_—and tell him that they didn't belong together because he was a wildly vivacious spirit whom she would only torment into a square and corporate bore. Exactly like herself.

Then she would be alone. In her sofa united and khakis and Strinne green stripe patterns.

And Draco? He'd be off in some foreign land forgetting his wine in lieu of a harem of belly-dancers.

Whom he'd share with Blaise (probably).

At the same time.

Ugh.

Hermione let her head fall into her hands, her curls falling over them and her shoulders, momentarily offering minimal warmth to her as her body temperature gradually plummeted.

Then.

"Sometimes, I become very afraid. It wakes me in the dead of night and I sit up, sweat soaking my clothes, I can hardly breathe. But then you are there, beside me, and I'm not so afraid anymore."

Hermione's head snapped up and jerked towards the very familiar voice.

Draco wasn't looking at her; his eyes were trained on the sea crashing against the shore. His flaxen hair was being ruffled by the wind and his features were solemn, steeled. He too, was sitting in the sand, his knees bent up and his arms stretched over them. The cool charcoal jumper he had adorned over his t-shirt was catching errant grains of sand.

And Beaker, well, he was taciturn between them.

Before Hermione could verbally acknowledge Draco's presence, he began again: "You see, I have done many things that I am not proud of. I have hurt some very good-hearted people. I've lied to them, betrayed them, and broke them." He swallowed thickly, and dropped his head, "I had some very wonderful women in love with me, and I broke their trust, their hearts. I have set standards for other men." His lips thinned with an ashamed frown. "But now, I've found you. Somebody I'm terribly in love with, that I want to spend my life with, and I'm just positive that I'm due for my comeuppance. That I'm going to get what I deserve. So I regret my past. My mum tried to teach me to treat others the way I wanted to be treated and that what goes around comes around, but I never listened. Now I know what she means. It's about Karma. Reaping what you sow." He looked at her then and gave a bittersweet ghost of a smile. "I've been lucky, and for some unknown reason, I have been blessed with you. You are brilliant and beautiful. Full of character and grace, and I just, gods, I'm terrified to lose you because of my past behavior."

"I'd never cheat on you," Hermione mumbled tritely. Because it was. She was loyal and fiercely passionate about him.

Draco chuckled and nodded. "Of course you wouldn't."

She pursed her lips in attempt to hide her leer.

"You are everything I ever wanted and everything I didn't know I needed. You balance me. You make me feel satisfied, that I can finally stop searching. I'm at peace when you are around."

Hermione shivered and her heart swelled to near bursting. She wanted to tackle him and kiss his face until the day's absurdness disappeared into tangled limbs and lovely swollen lips.

He had torn down her relationship complexes with four clumsily uttered sentences. Ones that had clearly weren't thought out or planned. They were spontaneous, from the pits of his soul and the beats of his heart.

He stood then and proffered his palm, which she readily took and allowed him to pull her up. Her hand reluctantly left his and rubbed at her bare arms in attempt to heat them up, she stared at him.

He smirked and then proceeded to pull off his jumper. "Here silly cow." She didn't respond as she accepted it, nor did she object when he assisted her in pulling it over her head.

It was full of him. Swimming around her was his heat, his scent (fabric softener, cologne and Man), and his love. Hermione was eager to drown in it.

He used his fingers to push her hair away from her face and his thumbs to wipe away a few stray tears. "I'd never lie to you."

She knew. "I know."

"No matter how much I don't want to answer your questions." He grinned devilishly and pulled her close against him.

"I probably won't stop asking." She tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist, and closing her eyes, reveled in the feel of him against her body.

It was her favorite feeling.

Draco's hard angles and sinewy planes against her soft curves and plush roundness.

Tomorrow there would be another question, prompted from something flittering through her ever-working brain. And he'd answer with a proclamation that she probably would be aghast to hear. But…

"I wouldn't take you any other way." And for that, she was very glad.

_A/N: To Julia, because you are my muse and my best friend. I adore you forever more. And I'd like to thank Trouble, because without your borderline gayness, this story would have never came to Dramione, I still love you more than any other._


End file.
